


The bodyguard

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bodyguard AU, F/M, Hurt and comfort, One Shot, Smut, all the cliches you can possibly imagine, imperfect sex, inspired by a gifset that's making rounds on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8548387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: She knows him for a year now. He's the guy who's always there, standing in the shadow. She's grown confident in his presence and learned to appreciate his methods and strict rules, because she knows the meaning and purpose to them.
 Or: after a traumatic event both Skye and Grant let down their guard and things happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stargazerdaisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargazerdaisy/gifts).



> There's a gifset of a bodyguard au that was making rounds on tumblr last week and the inspiration hit me like a ton of bricks. If the luck (and muses and free time) serve me there could be at least one more chapter of this - pointless fluff and smut just to please us all, because we deserve it. 
> 
> Written for stargazerdaisy. <33333

She is doing exactly what he instructed her to, so many times over – if many people panic and try to run out of the room, or any other space, chances are you will get run over. Take cover and wait.

 

Wait for him.

 

Skye can't see Grant in the commotion. There are shouts, there were three more gunshouts and a scream (female voice, she told herself), there's fighting. The partygoers abandon their manners and dignity, forgetting about their celebrity status and are scrambling over one another trying to get to the exits, while security personnel is living a nightmare and trying to help everyone all at once.

 

She is crouching between overturned chairs when a familiar tall figure reaches her line of sight. She manages to call him at the very moment when he sees her – relief washes over his face so visibly, it's a stark contrast to his usual composure.

 

“Oh, thank god,” he says, and maybe later she can tease him about being unprofessional, because a bodyguard should be emotionally detached. She grabs his wrists to get up when she notices a stain on his left shoulder, spreading down the sleeve of his suit.

 

“Are you hurt?” she's asking and without thinking reaching for his arm, his face. There's a bruise on his cheek and a cut on his forehead and his hair is messy. He's been fighting.

 

He was in danger.

 

 _Real_ danger.

 

“It's just a scratch,” he says, but her mind tells her that he could have been killed.

 

( _She could have lost him_.)

 

“Just a scratch? You're bleeding,” she's saying, but he shakes his head and grips her arms, but not too tight.

 

“Just follow me, I need to get you out of here.”

 

*

 

When they reach the car and Grant tells Lance to get going, and Skye finally realizes what happened. The shock and the fear catches up with her as adrenaline crashes. She starts feeling dizzy and weak and at the point when she thinks she is going to pass out, Grant pulls a Snickers out of his pocket.

 

“Eat,” he orders gently, and she thinks she could cry. There's a bruise on his face and now, when he's taken off his suit jacket, she can see blood on his shirt. Lots of blood. But he cares about her sugar levels dropping, and oh God, he is _still_ carrying sweets around for her.

 

She bites down into chocolate and caramel and peanuts instead of letting her tears flow. Grant is talking on the phone, to Coulson she's guessing, arguing loudly about terms of her attending social events. About how she had to be put at risk to make the host's ridiculous ego happy, because no security was allowed inside the party area.

 

“Look, Coulson,” he's saying and his body is radiating pent up energy and adrenaline and the hand not holding the phone is shaking. “I know you expect her to make you a lot of money and I'm aware this is a business. But you won't have a business if she's dead,” he says and hangs up, throwing the phone away.

 

There's something cold and heavy curling inside Skye's stomach. Notion she usually doesn't want to think about – that for Coulson, she is a business project.

 

Grant's hand is still shaking. She offers him her half eaten Snickers.

 

He looks up at her confused.

 

“You need it too,” she says.

 

*

 

She doesn't know how long the ride takes, but when they reach the hotel, Jemma is already there. She offers to help Skye, but Skye doesn't want it. She wants her bathroom, she wants to be alone, she wants to get the dress and the makeup off of her. She tells Jemma as much. She reminds her she's not alone. Her room is attached to Grant's with a single door (one of the requirements that he'd take the job in the first place). Jemma pretends she didn't notice Skye using his name.

 

“Okay. My room is just across yours,” Jemma says softly, squeezes Skye's hand and leaves.

 

When the door closes she can finally let it out and cry. And so she does, keeping both hands on her mouth, because she doesn't want Grant to hear her. She cries while she undresses and throws away the designer dress, she cries while she scrubs her face clean. She calms down as she showers, because the warm water seems to wash away everything, leaving her muscles looser, and her mind tired and full of uncomfortable noise.

 

She wraps herself in the soft robe and pads barefoot over the thick carpet to the main room, when she hears Grant on the other side of the door. His tone is still same, agitated, upset and anxious. She can't quite make out the words, but she doesn't have to. There's a voice telling her that it's his job to keep her safe. But it's not his job to argue in her favor, not like this. At least she thinks it isn't.

 

Then it all goes quiet. She didn't hear him say good bye or good night or anything. Skye thinks of his blood stained shirt and the bruise on his face. She thinks of him playing board games with her on long distance flights and making sure he always has some kind of food with him, just in case. (He's always telling her that she looks good and that it's way more important to eat healthy, than fit a certain size.) The cold feeling in her gut returns and suddenly she doesn't want to be alone any more.

She walks to the door and grabs the knob before she can think better of it. The door is heavy but it makes no sound, and the same thick carpet like one in her room cushions her footsteps.

 

He's in the bathroom. She can hear him moving there, she can hear something dropping to the floor and Grant cursing under his breath. The thought of him injured solidifies her intent and she crosses the space to the bathroom door in just a few steps.

 

He turns around when she enters and his movement is obviously made difficult by the injury.

 

He's standing there shirtless and trying to clean his shoulder. For a moment she registers that fact, but it's forgotten the moment she sees dried up blood and the cut on his shoulder. It's not big – it doesn't look big – she has no idea how bad it actually is.

 

“Skye, what are you doing here?” he asks, more worried than annoyed, and at this point she really doesn't care which one it is. He's _hurt_. “You should be -”

 

“No,” she cuts him off with the kind confidence she doesn't truly have right now. “You're hurt, let me at least help you.”

 

He looks at her with an expression she can't quite read, and she realizes she's silently pleading with him when he says “Okay”. She almost sags in relief, but then she realizes he's handing her the washcloth he's been holding. He turns on the tap and she puts the thing under the water, staring for a moment and then looking at him. He gives her a look that feels like he's trying to ask her something. Then he turns around, with his back to her and she just stares at his spine, her arms feeling sore and almost as if they're made of lead.

 

“Uh... Grant,” she says, reaching tentatively with her hand. She hesitates, her fingers just an inch from his skin. Then she gathers her courage and touches him.

 

“What? What's wrong?”

 

“Can you sit down? You're really really tall,” she says. He turns to look at her, and he looks confused and actually _cute_ , and her brain just pauses a little. Then he smiles – it's a tiny smile, but it's disarming, and it does _something_ to Skye as she looks at him. He sits down at the edge of the bathtub and this way he is a little bit lower than her height. She comes close to him and realizes just how big he is.

 

“Just clean it up,” he says. “Don't worry. It looks worse than it is. It stopped bleeding and doesn't hurt much.”

 

She nods. The fingers of her left hand find a purchase on his good shoulder. The skin to skin contact brings a feeling of relief and as she starts to gently pat and wipe away the dried blood, she realizes it's not him who truly needs this – it's _her._

 

She finds it's easier to focus as she does this. Her head doesn't feel like a blur of things and with every breath the weight on her chest gets easier. The blood goes away and she can see the cut now, and really, it's not as bad as it seemed at first. It's still angry red and it starts bleeding a little, but she supposes that's normal.

 

But this isn't affecting only her. It seems like Grant collapses onto himself while she gently cleans him, his breathing turning somewhat erratic. She wonders how he feels, she wonders if he even got to process what happened, she realizes that she had the privilege of being the protected one in this situation. He didn't. He was doing all the work. Everything was on him.

 

She carefully rubs his good shoulder. He sighs, leaning forward. She doesn't really think, she just steps a bit closer, close enough so that he can press his forehead against her sternum. She rubs the back of his neck, lightly scratches his scalp, ruffles his hair – and it strikes her how intimate it all feels, but at the same time, it just feels right. Like they've done this before.

 

She knows him for a year now. He's the guy who's always there, standing in the shadow. She's grown confident in his presence and learned to appreciate his methods and strict rules, because she knows the meaning and purpose to them. She also knows that he was right about this party, knows also that Coulson was wrong – _is_ wrong in so many other respects and it's dawning on her that their business arrangement left her with the short end of the stick.

 

And the most striking thing is that with him she doesn't feel confident, she doesn't feel successful. There is always something lacking.

 

It goes away now. She realizes what she's doing when Grant moves and looks up at her, and from his hair her hands move to his cheeks. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, and she can see that he's tense, and he's tired and he's feeling every bit of what she's feeling as well. Her thumb gently strokes his eyelid. He smiles a little and looks up. Her fingers brush his cheekbones and somehow land on his lips.

 

She is used to his warm soft eyes. They change when she touches his mouth, growing dark. He's trying to hold his breath and she knows what he's thinking – that he shouldn't react, that it's inappropriate, that he must control himself despite the almost electrical charge between them.

 

She's barely aware on his hand on her hip, resting there undecided; maybe to push her away or maybe to keep her in place. She doesn't know which, she only knows that she finally feels warm, she finally feels safe.

 

And that's it. _That's exactly it._

 

Her fingers skim along his cheeks and she gently lifts his chin. He's still there, looking at her and not pushing her away. Her heart is pounding and she is scared, but the need to stay here, the need to have him close is bigger than the fear. So she kisses him.

 

His lips are soft and there but it takes him a moment to respond. It's like he's overcoming surprise – then she feels his hands on her sides pulling her closer as his mouth moves beneath hers.

 

Heat _floods_ her. She's trembling from relief. She holds his face as she continues kissing him and he lets her lead, angles his head so it's easier for her to reach him, opens his mouth when she licks at his lips.

 

The moment his tongue touches hers she thinks she might collapse. He holds her more securely then, pulling her close and spreading his legs and her arms wind around his neck. He moans and the sound goes through her body and stays inside her, making her feel like she might combust. He's kissing and lightly biting along the column of her neck, his stubble scarping her skin. If she's pulling at his hair a bit too hard he's not complaining.

 

She finds she can't be without his mouth on hers, so she drags him back into a kiss. It's getting so heated she thinks she might pass out as he robe comes loose and Grant's hands find the thin, silky camisole she has on. She's moaning and trying to press herself closer to him, to somehow draw all of his strength and warmth into her own chest, so it wouldn't constantly feel so vacant. His fingers slip under the fabric of her top and it feels like an electrical surge. She encourages him, not even trying to hide her moans any more.

 

Suddenly, he pulls away.

 

Skye gasps, looking at his messed up hair and swollen lips.

 

“You should tell me to stop,” he says, drawing ragged breaths. “You should tell me now.”

 

She can't comprehend what he's saying at first, and then she's shaking her head and stroking his face.

 

“No. No, no. I don't want you to. _Please_ don't stop.”

 

She realizes how much he was holding back when he kisses her again. He dominates the kiss this time, with his hands on her cheeks. Her knees go weak and she's nearly collapsing, but then he's getting up and drawing her to him and all she can do (all she _wants_ to do) is give into this. He lifts her like she's a feather, like she weighs nothing.

 

The walk to bed takes a few strides, and then he gently drops her on the mattress. She kneels and shrugs off her robe, and like that she's almost the same height as him. He stares at her like he wants to make sure she's absolutely certain of doing this. She answers his dilemma by pulling him by his belt. He grins.

 

She's grinning too as their lips inch closer. The kiss takes her breath away, deep and white hot as her hands roam his naked skin. He looks and feels exactly as spectacular as she imagined and the feel of the powerful muscles shifting under her touch only adds to the wetness between her legs. She undoes his belt, pulls the top button open and undoes the zipper. She can feel him hard and waiting for her, and she pulls back just to see his wrecked expression as she undresses him.

 

“So you like me,” she says.

 

“I like you,” he answers, chasing her lips and pushing his tongue into her mouth. She slides his nice pants down his narrow hips.

 

“I hoped you'd like me,” she admits, bowing her head to kiss his chest. “I wanted you to like me,” she's admitting, feeling silly with her crush on a hot guy who was completely unattainable due to his stern professionalism. Until _now_. She strokes him through his boxers, enjoying the way his hips jerk into her hand. His lips are parted and his gaze hooded and dark and it feels absolutely incredible to have this man, this powerful man within her hands.

 

She pushes his boxers down too and stares, looks him up and down and swallows thickly at the sight. Because he is... _gorgeous_.

 

She's not even aware she blurts it out. He smiles.

 

“Nah. That's you,” he says, sliding a hand into her hair. She turns her face into his palm and kisses it.

 

Skye can't wait any longer. The camisole has to go, and she pulls it over her head and carelessly tosses it away. He stares now, his hands covering her breasts completely. Everything about him is big, all of his presence and his strength, and she feels tiny and fragile, fitting perfectly into his hold. It's a relief because she doesn't have to be stoic, quietly stand the criticism, not show any self doubt or hurt. It's okay to be gentle and small, to feel weak, to need.

 

Skye needs him, right now. She takes his right hand and pulls it from her breast down her body and slides it into her panties.

 

“Please, Grant,” she says, closing her eyes when his fingers slip along her folds and inside of her.

 

It feels like every single nerve she has is on fire. Her body is oversensitive, with all the adrenaline still running through her, his mouth and his fingers. She rocks her hips into his hand, shamelessly moaning. She imagined a scenario like this more than once, but for the longest time it was just a nice imagery, just something to put her mind at ease while she did tours, concerts, photoshoots. He was always right there next to her, but to her, it felt like thousand miles separated them.

 

She finally slides her panties down. He pulls his hand away and tugs at her lower lip as he crawls over her on the bed. His hands feel so huge on her. She parts her legs to accommodate him, holding her breath in anticipation, but he kisses her first, so sweetly that she has to smile.

 

“Oh God,” she's saying looking at his face, his perfect cheekbones, his eyes all warm and soft and unlike how he usually is.

 

“What?” he asks, kissing her deeper, so that she's left gasping against his mouth.

 

“It's... I...,” she bites her lip and waits. “I didn't think you'd like me... like this,” she says. He stares at her for a moment or two and then just leans down to kiss all her doubts away.

 

It's glorious. She doesn't even remember when was the last time she felt like this, excited and flushed and ready to burst at the seems. He enters her slowly, taking his time and kissing her through it because she's somehow still impossibly tight. Once he's fully inside they're both gasping, and while she loves the feel of him in her, it also hurts. She winces when he starts to pull out, and he stops immediately.

 

“Skye?”

 

“It's... just...,” she doesn't know what's wrong, because she's wet and she wants him like crazy, but her body seems too keyed up, overstimulated and sensitive in all the wrong ways. She kisses him, inviting his tongue into her mouth as he slides out and back in. It doesn't help, though, and she whimpers painfully.

 

“Let's do something different then,” he says, pulling out. That feels like a relief, but she feels completely mortified over the fact that she fails at something this simple.

 

“I'm sorry,” she's saying, but he's shaking his head and kissing her. She adds, “It's been awhile.”

 

“It's okay,” he says warmly. “We'll get there.”

 

She smiles and bites her lip at the implication of those words, realizing how _badly_ she wants this event to repeat again. And again. _And again_. He slides one finger inside of her and she gasps. It's followed by his mouth on hers and then another finger and it feels so good, as he teases her gently like this. Her hips rock into his hand as she holds onto him, climbing towards an orgasm that feels inevitable like an avalanche. It hits her in a blinding rush as he entire body feels like it's exploding, and he keeps his hand inside of her until she is done shaking in his arms. She looks up to find him staring at her in a daze.

 

“You're amazing,” he says, and it's so good to hear something like that, so nice, because it's been awhile since she had that too. She lives in an ivory tower where she's carefully kept away from the world, and she realizes how badly she's craving this – just ordinary, raw human contact. Grant kisses her again and she sinks into the mattress and the pillow under her head, completely giving in to everything and anything he's willing to do. His mouth leaves hers making its way over her chin, down her throat, between her breasts, and down to her spread legs.

 

She grabs his hair the moment his mouth is on her. This too is an overload to her senses, but a completely different one. She spreads her legs wider, biting the wrist of her other hand as he works her with his tongue. There's something almost possessive about the way he's doing this, intense and focused, just like he is with everything he does. It's a dizzying realization and all she can do is hold on and moan and gasp for air when he pushes two fingers inside of her and sucks her flesh into his mouth.

 

She's screaming now with every thrust of his hand, feeling like there's no end to this, no limit to how much her body can take, and it goes on and on and _on_. When she finally comes, it feels like crashing from a high and losing herself so completely, she's lost awareness of everything.

 

 _Almost_ everything. Grant comes up to kiss her again and she feels like she had fallen apart. Like nobody could possibly put her back – and she doesn't want to, either. She's been fucked so good, she honestly doesn't remember when sex felt like this last time, and she's been fucked by a guy she'd been pining for since she had laid her eyes on him almost a year ago and he is super hot and amazing and gentle.... and it's everything she's given up on having awhile ago. She's faintly aware of erratic movements of his hand, and realizes he's working to relieve his own tension, and _oh God_ she had been so unfair to him. She leans up to kiss him deeper, making the kiss hot and dirty and her hand slides down his body so she can wrap her fingers around him. He's groaning into her mouth, shaking under her touch and that gives her a surge of pride, this knowledge that she affects him just the way he affects her.

 

It doesn't take long for him. He comes into his own hand, to prevent staining the sheets. He catches his breath, kneeling above her and she unabashedly watches him.

 

“I'll be right back,” he says, moving off the bed and in the direction of the bathroom.

 

Skye is tired – she finally feels how tired she is – and she pulls up a big double sized blanket and curls onto her side. A moment later Grant joins her, climbing onto the bed and under the blanket. He pulls her close, so she can nuzzle his chest and touch his skin, and it's really nice like that. She yawns.

 

“And what now?” she asks, used to him being the one to decide the next move if the situation was serious – and they dealt with some serious situations before. None of them was like today, though.

 

“Now we get some rest,” he says, stroking her hair. “Proper rest. You're not going anywhere tomorrow.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah. Coulson agreed. We can... sleep in if you want. Have a breakfast. A shower.”

 

“A shower together?” she asks teasingly, in a way that usually got annoyed answers out of him. (Now she understand why.) He kisses the top of her head.

 

“If you want,” he says simply.

 

“ _Yes,”_ she says _._ “And a breakfast in bed. And few other things in bed as well.”

 

“Really?” he's asking as she traces patterns along his side, learning how his muscles and ribs feel under her fingertips.

 

“If I have a day off, I’d like to spend it on something worthwhile,” she says. “Sex sounds great.”

 

He kisses her. It's soft and long and still hot in a way that almost makes her want to have sex right now. Only she's really, _really_ tired. “You'll get all the sex you want,” he promises.

 

“So you'll take care of me,” she says sleepily. “You always take care of me.”

 

“I try,” he answers, tucking her closer and kissing her hair, and maybe that's the sweetest thing he has done tonight. She relishes the feeling of being held close, of sleeping next to someone – not someone, but _Grant_ – and feeling safe.

 

Surrounded with the soft warmth, she sleeps until the morning.

 

 


End file.
